The Hunted
by Fallen-Gabriel
Summary: Ten years after building a thriving utopia, Wesker is attacked by the BSAA, and is saved by an unknown individual. But an itch has been scratched, a desire growing so fast that Wesker may give it all in a ruthless quest for possession.
1. Chapter 1

I swear, transferring all these fanfics over from a joint account will kill me. lol - But! It needs to be done. Most of the fics were written by me anyway, so...Whatever! I finally have my own account, all to me! Muhahahahahahahaha~!

W-s-s-W

Chapter 1 – Flicker

The rain poured down on the city, staining it a deep shade of grey. The metallic blue glistened on the streets which shined in the crack of lightning that was quickly followed by a roar from the heavens. The _tap_ of rain on metal and cement was all that could be heard among the shuffle of drenched cloth and _click_ of heel. The scent in the air was clear; no smoke pilfered the gloomy streets, and the occasional waver of fresh produce.

A _splash_ and _clank_ was heard down a narrow alley, a hand slapping against the brick of a building as the owner nearly fell to his knees, his right hand gripping his shirt near his heart. He hissed and staggered on, sending cans spiraling when he waved his seemingly heavy arm to be rid of them, and he clawed at the wall with his other. His limbs heavy with fatigue, he trudged on, and spluttered when a clap of thunder would ring in his ears and make his vision blurry. His breaths were heavy as his lungs strained to get enough air and pump his sluggish blood.

His black suit was torn and stained with crimson, the drenched cloth feeling heavy on his legs as his limbs shook with the force of carrying himself so far. _They…don't realize what I've…given them! A new life, a new, powerful world! _He thought as he gave a hacking cough that shook his whole body and sent him spiraling to the ground. The shellshock was enough to almost knock him unconscious, and he curled up against the brick wall that he'd been using to support himself.

He pulled his arms to his chest and coiled his legs up, seeking warmth in his shaking limbs, and he realized that he'd never felt so weak in his whole life. His blonde hair was matted and hanging uselessly over his brow and he batted at it in an attempt to remove it from his field of vision. _Bastards! I'll end them all once I regain my strength! _His red eyes were narrowed and he could see their faint glow on the back of his pale hand – the blue veins below bulging under the force of the toxin that flowed through his veins. _Goddamnit! _He cursed as a particularly strong pain seared at the base of his skull and down his back.

He didn't see, hear, or even feel the person behind him till a hand brushed his shoulder. He turned his head painfully, seeking out the form of the one over him but all he found was a pair of azure, glowing, cat-like irises. "Hey! You okay?" The blonde, Albert Wesker – the genius leader of the utopia that surrounded them – strained to hear the other as he spoke. A clap of thunder sent Albert reeling and he spluttered as the force jarred his senses.

"Does it…look like…it?" Wesker grumbled as the other stared at him with those bright **blue** eyes, the only thing not shrouded in shadow. It was…An oddity. In his world everyone had glowing red eyes, but a select few in the biological chain of things had maintained different eye colors – a step up in evolution – and this both shocked and interested him. He'd seen violet and pink eye colors but never had he seen such an intense contrast to the norm.

When he got better…

The stranger wasted no time and lifted him as if he weighed nothing, pulling him close in what Wesker recognized as a bridal hold. Damn. He was being carried like a **woman**. Nevertheless this being radiated heat and, despite himself, he leaned on the other for this intense warmth that his body gave off in waves. Albert could tell by the feel that this was a man, and a very tall one at that – probably around six foot five.

"Cold…" Wesker growled as the other's steps – although light – made him cringe in pain. He clutched the leather jacket that was against his cheek, eyes sealed shut against the rain that crept down his forehead and into the cracks of his sealed irises.

Albert felt something under him and realized he was being lowered onto a machine of some sort…A motorcycle? He wasn't aware that such things even still existed after he'd taken over. A heavy presence overtook his shoulders and a welcome heat encompassed him because of it. The stranger sat down and a thrum sounded below Wesker as the machine rumbled to life and vibrated below him. He once again leaned against the other and clutched weakly at the material that hugged his abdomen.

He gave another hacking cough as the rain stung his face and caused him to turn his head – as best he could – and press it into the chest of whoever steered this beast. Heat and the musky odor of sweat and pine filled his nostrils as his neck protested in its weak state to the angle. "Where…?" He wanted to know where this behemoth was taking him, damnit! But all he could do was weakly hold onto consciousness.

They drove for what felt like hours to the blonde but could have very well only been about thirty minutes or so, till the strange man slowed and took a series of turns. Wesker heard the churn of gravel but didn't really register it as the other once again picked him up. To his relief, the sting of rain was gone, and now all he felt was the quiet patter of a few stray drops against his face as he was transported indoors. The temperature was thankfully warmer, and Albert gave another weak cough as the blue-eyed man sat him down in some kind of lumpy chair…at least, he assumed it was a chair.

Upon cracking his eyes open he saw the faint receding glimmer of a candle in the corner that illuminated half a room which revealed a brown couch, a coffee table, – strewn with coins of currency, an old silver tape recorder, a dusty leather-bound brown journal, and a mug – and some kind of television was stationed on the floor with a DVD player sitting on top.

Wesker scoffed at the absurd things lying about to the sound of rushing water. Albert wondered if the other was just going to leave him there and sniffled as he waited…cinnamon. That may have been a way to describe the scent that filled his nostrils. He inhaled the smell that stayed on this piece of leather along with the musky scent that clung to the other. What an odd combination; he found it oddly…Comforting. He sneered.

The man in the bathroom was wearing a tight, black t-shirt that displayed the lower half of his abdomen, black jeans, and a wide brimmed black cowboy hat that had a silver plate on the front with feathers splitting out of it. His dark mane reached around his mid-back and had beads with a few crow's quills in it. A dark-skinned hand tested the water of the tub, scars stretched across muscled arms and on his toned stomach, visible thanks to his shirt. A long, jagged mark went from the top right of his forehead to his left cheekbone and the rest of his form probably matched the state of his arms. His boots were scuffed from use, a bit of silver visible from a hole in the toe, revealing the steel beneath.

He sighed and stood, having tested the bath water and made sure it was lukewarm for his guest. "He's burning up," he mumbled in a deep baritone to himself as he frowned, his azure eyes glowing against the darkness, cracks touching the corners of his eyes – telling of his age before the release of uroboros. Sensou stepped out of the bathroom and entered the living room to look at the blonde, who shivered pitifully in his comfy chair. He walked over and touched the other's forehead, causing red eyes to look into his irritably.

"You're hot," he sighed as he took the other's hands and peeled them off of his jacket.

"Cold," the blonde mumbled as he clutched at the leather as best he could, making the Indian smile sadly as he took it from his pale hands. Sen walked around to the front of the chair to pick Wesker up, feeling him lean on him for warmth and hiss at the steps he took. "**Down**," he growled as if he were in command of the situation.

Sensou simply rolled his eyes.

"Bath time, Grimy," he chuckled as he sat the blonde on his bathroom counter and stripped away his clothing. "At least you healed," Sen noted as he tugged away the other's bloody shirt. Wesker made no comment on the state of his clothes and merely coughed weakly as Sen lifted him again to transport him to the bath.

"Ice…cold…Jackass," Albert growled as he looked over his shoulder at Sensou who washed his charge with a sponge. When all his eyes found were the Indian's shoulder he hissed at the height difference that didn't allow him to glare into the other's eyes.

"Mhm," Sen hummed as the blonde before him mumbled and threw curses at him. He pushed Wesker's head away from his chest so that he could wash the other's back and neck, before draining the tub and rinsing him with slightly warm water in an attempt to appease him. It didn't work.

"Hush," Sen growled, picking him up – not drying him off so that the water would dry naturally and cool his body temperature – when he finished. Wesker continued to grumble as Sen sat him down on his bathroom counter and went to fetch clothes. While sitting – shivering – in the bathroom, Wesker actually took the time to notice that the other operated by candles. He didn't turn on the lights, but worked by the tiny flames that flickered all over the 'apartment'. His mouth curled in disgust that some in **his** world still worked by this primitive form of light.

Sensou returned after a moment and put a pair of boxers and some jogging pants on Wesker. He had to tie them so that they didn't slide off the blonde and picked him up again as he hissed. Sen pressed his forehead to Wesker's, "hush, or I will put you back in with **real** cold water."

Wesker's only response was a nasty glare that faltered after he blinked, his eyes becoming half lidded and unfocused. Sensou frowned and sighed before walking out of the bathroom and into the adjoining bedroom to put the blonde under the comforter. He walked around the house – licking his fingers and squeezing the life out of the flames that flickered – and when he finally returned to the room after this ceremonious task as he did every night; Wesker was unconscious.

Sen removed his shirt and threw it on the foot of the bed above Albert's feet and sighed. "I wonder if sleeping in the same bed would freak him out…" He wasn't inconsiderate, but this was the only bed in the house and the couch was **only** good for sitting. Sensou sighed and shrugged. _It's not like I'm going to do anything with him so out of it…Despite him being fuckin' beautiful as all get out. _He slid into the bed next to the other – making sure to use his pillow as a wall between them – and turned over to get some sleep.

11:12 P.M.

Grumbling, Wesker slowly opened his bleary eyes. The room was pitch black and his irises were too weak to fully adjust so he fumbled around as he shivered, his teeth chattering together to make a clicking noise. _Damn…it's…so cold… _He thought bitterly, feeling something lumpy pressing against his face as well as to his cheek. A pillow? Yes, and there was something very large and very **warm** behind it.

He growled, low and dangerous, at this makeshift barrier as if willing it away would get the job done and proceeded to lift his shaking hand to curl his fingers into it, his claws digging in so hard that they punctured it. His limbs shook with the force but he was able to fling it across the room with a jerk. Horrible, terrible idea – he should have just frozen because he gave several shuddering coughs that made him curl his knees up into his chest.

Despite his state, he found the strength to slowly inch toward the human furnace, not pausing to think of the degrading position and how ridiculous he looked, cuddling into the behemoth's side. _Better…warm. _He inhaled, taking in the familiar pine scent, barely masking the smell of sweat beneath.

Sensou cracked his eyes open slightly, not even bothering to turn his head before he yawned and threw an arm over Wesker, covering his shoulders and most of his back in that welcome warmth. "…Whatever…" The Indian grumbled roughly as Albert exhaled and gave a small cough, and in less than a moment they'd found sleep.

10 o'clock A.M.

Sensou's eyes snapped open, irises searching the gloom haphazardly, but not really seeing anything as his body jerked him into a sitting position. His form was covered in sweat, rolling down his figure, and he shook his head; hand rising to encompass the side of his face as a dull throb worked its way over his skull. "Shit…another nightmare…" He said with a low grumble, before sighing and looking down to – "What the hell?" Wesker was pressed into his side, his blonde hair everywhere and his skin a slight shade of…pink.

He'd never noticed this before but the blonde smelled nice. It was an odd thing to think but through all the cuddling last night and these subsequent events he'd come to find that Wesker had a nice scent. Sen tried to reason that it was because he was a hunter by nature and that there was nothing wrong with finding his smell attractive…It was clean, like soap and a hint of cologne. But his natural scent was the one that clung to his being now, musk, soap, and the hint of something sweet that Sen couldn't place.

_I am out of my mind…_

Sensou's eye twitched at the sight and he pushed the other away a little, noticing his cooler temperature, and was more than a little displeased when Wesker came back, pressing his face into his muscled side. "Hm…" he grumbled, finding this to be uncomfortable in his subconscious state, he rose to press his cheek to Sen's chest, causing the Indian to lie down on his elbows.

"What happened to the pillow?" Sensou asked with a furrowed brow as he searched the dark room. His eyes had adjusted and he noticed a rather large lump obscuring the closet door. "Oh…That's where," he sighed as the other man in the bed slowly rolled off of him and away. His brow rose at the sight, frowning when the other muttered: "_Hot_…"

"Hot?" he came closer, scooting across the bed and pressing his palm to Wesker's forehead. _He's like a fuckin' ice cube_! "What kind of fucking bi-polar disease do you have, blondie?" Sensou asked as he removed his hand and pulled the comforter over them, trying to warm the blonde up. Albert's only response was…An irritated one, which involved gargled "mmm", and tossing away the covers that the other put on his freezing form. Sen shrugged, kicking his legs to separate the sheets from his limbs before standing, and stretching. "I'll make breakfast and you _will_ eat."

"Mmm…" was all he got as a response from the blonde, whose face was pressed into a pillow.

"Tch…" He walked into the rather unorganized kitchen, feeling around for the box of matches that always resided on the bar. It wasn't a dirty room, just…Everything was everywhere. Pots and pans rested on the counter instead of in the cabinet, knives were thrown this way and that, and some were in the fridge. Spoons, forks, and other random utensils never left the drying rack and the dish towels and things were shoved into drawers but never really found a home.

He discovered the matches and lit a candle on the counter, looking around and finding the pan he chuckled and put it on the stove to be heated up. "I wonder what I should make?" After running to the store yesterday for groceries he could make practically anything and went to look into the fridge for ingredients. _Clunk_! A loud sound penetrated the gloom and Senosu looked up suddenly in surprise, slamming the door closed. _The Hell, _he thought as he made his way through the bathroom and back into his room.

He staggered a bit once inside, letting his eyes adjust and realized that he probably should have brought the candle with him. But seeing as it was too late he just eyed the few blonde strands on the pillow that the other occupied. The eerie blue light of approaching dawn filtered through the shutters and Sensou walked over to sit on the edge of the bed near the other's abdomen, lightly tugging at the blanket that hid his face.

With a quick jerk Wesker threw the covers away and wrapped his arms around Sen's neck, hauling him to his overheated form. "H – Hey! What the Hell is wrong with you?!" Sensou asked in bewilderment as to why Albert grappled onto him.

"Freezing…" was said against the skin of his neck, Wesker's breath wavering over the flesh there.

"I thought you were hot?" He grumbled, raising a brow. He got no response which caused him to shake his head and roll his eyes. "Fuckin' Hell," he growled before sighing against the pale temple that was pressed against his jaw. "Wait…shit; are you out of it **again**? What the fuck is wrong with you?" Wesker only clutched him tighter, pressing his face against the skin of Sen's neck, and squeezing his weak limbs to hold him there as best he could. "Damnit…why are you so beautiful? Ah – what am I thinking?" Sensou asked – more than a little conflicted – while feeling Wesker just push himself so tightly against him.

"Mmm…" was mumbled against his neck again.

"...Not every day you get an attractive blonde unconscious and incapacitated in your bed…would it even be considered rape? Fuck, what the hell is wrong with me? Hey, don't cuddle me! Shit…please be out of my bed soon…_please_ be out of my bed soon…" Sensou chanted, eye twitching from the fact he actually **thought** those things out load, let alone at **all**. Had he actually sunk that low?! Wesker was unconscious half the time and couldn't tell right from left. Not to mention if he ever found out…He was no doubt some noble from the city so Sen would probably be prosecuted should he ever…Why was he thinking of the consequences if he wasn't even going to do it?!

"…Cold…" Wesker growled quietly. "Mmm…" Disturbed Sen from his thoughts but…

"Stop making those noises, you sound like you're having sex – gah! Goddamnit…this was a bad idea." He pinched the bridge of his nose, gritting his teeth. "Stop thinking anything." He growled this to himself, trying desperately to control where his mind wandered. _I am a sick, sick, twisted bastard…_ He blamed it on the wars. He blamed it on the military not giving him pay enough to go see a psychiatrist. He blamed it on the fact that he'd seen the worst in the human race and couldn't shake this profound hatred of himself.

"Warm…nice…" Albert murmured; his breath hot against Sen's neck. The Indian's eye twitched and he raised a hand to rub the back of his head, grumbling softly for a moment. Sensou took a deep breath and seized the wrists of the pale arms around his neck before jerking them away and standing. Well…He would have stood if Wesker's legs hadn't wrapped around his waist and held him there so that his arms could once again take their place around his neck.

For the next five minutes Sen tried to disentangle himself, and this just seemed to make the room warmer so he gave up altogether, and huffed when the blonde started sapping away his body heat. "Hell, it's not like I'm lacking any…" he muttered crossly, before pressing the back of his hand to Wesker's forehead. "We need to get your temperature back to normal, though…"

He picked him up and was relieved to hear only two or three curse words from the action, muttered low and rather dangerous into his ear. Wesker fell silent quickly though and gave a weak, rather raspy cough that made Sen cringe slightly. By the looks of it he was too weak to even cough…He transported Albert to the bathroom counter and turned on the hot and cold water to make the bath lukewarm, before making quick work of the blonde's jogging pants and boxers. There were two more obscenities thrown when he slowly lowered him into the water.

"Jackass…" Wesker growled, opening his eyes to cast a glare to Sensou, but he only met his shoulder when he looked back to the Indian. The height difference was starting to irritate him more than the fact that the idiot couldn't seem to get it that he was **freezing**.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever blondie," Sen chuckled, starting to wash him with the sponge that occupied the side of the bath. "You've never been sick in your life, I bet, the way you keep complaining." He noted, scrubbing Wesker's scalp.

"Hmph…" Albert grumbled, growing more troubled by this monster's hygiene. He was scrubbing him with a bacteria collecting article and he was no doubt, **no doubt**, washing his hair with some diluted chemical ridden shampoo. It would take weeks to repair the damage this buffoon was doing to him!

"Yep…thought so," Sen nodded once, running the sponge over the other's tired, battered frame, trying to soothe him…which wasn't working, apparently.

"I want…_out_…" Wesker growled under his breath, his head slightly lolling to the side in his fragile state. _Damn this water is cold, is he _**_trying_**_ to kill me_? And as if sensing his thoughts…

"Shut up sickie." Albert's eye twitched at the nickname and he felt his features forming a snarl, but he couldn't retain it. He was suddenly relieved that the other didn't use anything but candles to illuminate, because being so weak that he couldn't even express his emotions was by far more degrading than being bathed like a child.

"No…" Wesker growled in retaliation.

"Yes," Sen smirked, leaning forward to examine his face in the dim light. "You're all pink…"

"Not…**pink**." Albert hissed, red irises flashing in annoyance, resting his head against the wall of the tub. _How dare he compare my face to such an obscene color!_ Wesker thought, feeling his face twitch to perform its usual snarl of disgust but he suppressed it, least he risk further embarrassment.

"Yes you are, look at your cheeks…all pink." Much to Wesker's disapproval and revulsion, Sen pinched his cheeks, grinning evilly as curses and oaths of pain were flung at him by the blonde. He resumed work and shook his head, smiling slightly, when Albert settled down.

"Gorgeous…" He mumbled, though he did so under his breath so that Wesker wouldn't hear him. It was becoming harder and harder not to notice so he finally let himself do so after a moment. The blonde had soft skin, really, really soft. Not to mention smooth, it was like velvet really, and Sen knew that this had to be some kind of noble from the city – high ranking.

He had nice muscles too, he wasn't all soft and that was something to be appreciated. Often the city people he had seen were lean but this one was muscled, very well too, and he found it odd. Why would someone from the city – who had never fought a day in their life – be so well-built?

"…Damnit." Sensou cursed, wishing he hadn't noticed any of the appeasing qualities of the blonde's physic.

"…Hm…?" Wesker questioned, casting a glance to the glowing azure eyes over his shoulder.

"Nothing…" He shook his head. _If he doesn't get better soon…I'm just going to go fuckin' insane. _Sen drained the bath, setting Albert on the counter, and letting him dry on his own. He dressed him, chuckling quietly at the sight of the blonde in clothes much too big for him. "Least you're not burning up anymore," he noticed, picking him up and transporting him back to the bed. He covered him up before sliding in next to him, Albert wasting no time in pressing up against him, apparently feeling cold again and requiring the Indian for absentmindedly stroked a few stray strands of blonde hair from Wesker's face and out of his weary eyes. Sensou lay there for many moments – moments he would later regret – and just watched the other rest, smoothing the hair away from his face.

"You're a cute little shit when you're not whining and bitching at me." Sensou smirked, rolling onto his side so that Albert's face pressed into his chest, causing the smaller male to sigh in his sleep. Sen smoothed his hair against his skull, his arms wrapped around Wesker, and eyes half lidded, as the early morning sunlight streamed through the shutters of the window. Their faces were touched by rays of light, bands striping their faces in a golden glow and he stroked the blonde's smooth cheek, which was stained a slight pink.

"I wonder if you know…How fuckin' beautiful you are." Sensou frowned, nuzzling the pillow against his cheek, "course you do, probably crawlin' in women." He touched the other's face, watching the subtle play of his face, and the crease his brows made as they drew together. The Native's brow furrowed as he removed his fingers – which had barely grazed the other's cheek – and stared at his expression now. Peaceful.

He sighed and released Wesker from his embrace, moving out from under the comforter and back into the living room.

The apartment had a long front hallway; the first door on the right led to the bathroom which then led into the bedroom, a dresser separating this door and the closet. The closet and door to the living room were on opposite walls, a corner the only thing separating them, and you couldn't open them together. The living room was rather large, but that was probably because the dining room was attached.

The first door on the left wasn't even a door; it was open to the kitchen area which was shaped like a 'c', complete with washing machine and a small fridge that Sen had to stoop to get into. The washing machine and dryer were hidden behind two shutter doors on the wall left of the fridge. Continuing down the hallway was the living room so everything looped together, and overall the apartment was small. Sen liked it.

He sat down on the couch, randomly flipping the pages of his journal, before grabbing a small, white box hidden below the right cover, and opened it. Three white, long, cylinder bodies faced him and he cursed at the sight. "Might as fuckin' well," he grunted, taking one out and inserting the end into his mouth. He searched the table to discover his scuffed silver lighter, with the symbol of a howling wolf on the front.

The end glowed orange, and he found that simple shine somehow comforting in its familiarity. Ever since the ban on cigarettes and alcohol, Sen had been spending a couple hundred bucks every crusade for three packs of these little cancer sticks. The smooth feeling of relief overtook him, making his muscles flex and relax under the force of inhaling and exhaling this forbidden drug.

Being as simple as he was, he didn't get what the big deal was with banning cigarettes and booze. Seriously, no one could die of cancer or liver disease, so what was wrong with wanting to have a smoke or get a buzz? The only way to get either was to live in what was called, 'The Borderlands', a horror story for the rich elite, or those that lived in the city.

It was the frontier to Hell, fighting off infected and living among the hunted. The city was protected by immense walls and on the outside – between gates – were villages of bars, brothels, and orphanages of kids who had failed entrance exams. It was made to be the worst place on earth, so that people wouldn't want to leave the city. The rumor, the lie that had been made for those inside those sanctioned walls, was so true it wasn't even funny. Everyone had a shotgun and hand grenades under their pillows.

Sensou and a few friends had signed up to be Crusaders, people who ferried others across the wastes to Moscow – where a new colony was being set up. It was a chance to pass the entrance exams that kids had failed in their first go around, it was a third chance to the second that everyone had been given when this 'new world' started. Sen had taken more than one family across the vastness that separated the nearest border town and Moscow, because one punk ass kid just hadn't felt good or got nervous the day tests opened up.

Exams, they were every parent's worst nightmare…If your child failed their tests they were sent to The Borderlands and you were split off from your spouse. Some people let it happen, too afraid to go into Hell for their child, or brave the wastes to get them a second chance. Instead, some 'parents' let their kids be taken away, and left their loved one without a second thought. If you were even in love with your husband or wife…Thanks to a little computer program and everyone having to submit their blood for coding, your spouse was selected for you - should you enter some whacked out program to get one.

Needless to say, when the ships arrived on the eastern shore of America and Sen stepped foot in England – the thriving metropolis that it was even then – he immediately set off for the Borderlands. He took no tests and did no filing; he didn't even get a physical. He just left.

All of Europe was a thriving utopia, Moscow was in the works, and Japan was somehow building its own empire. Apparently, the little country was filled with many who had survived and were prospering from the infection. He wondered what the big guys upstairs were doing or were **thinking** of doing to get them under their control. He chuckled at the thought of a war spawning out of all this – seeing those military guys in their frumpy clothes trying to tactically kill everybody. What a joke.

There was a _smash_ from the bedroom, making his eyes snap open, and he growled at the sound. He flicked some of his cigarette into the ashtray sitting on the arm of the couch, standing and making quick work of the space to the bedroom door, before jerking it open. "**What**?!" He was more than a little pissed off that the other found it mandatory to fling things to get his attention.

A pair of red eyes glared at him from over top the edge of the comforter, the blonde underneath blinking in what seemed like confusion before his eyes grew slightly wide. "Your skin…"

Sen's brow furrowed. "What about it?" He looked down, noticing that a golden ray from dawn was running across the back of his hand, displaying his dark skin tone. He took his cigarette out of his mouth, walking back into the living room to flick a chunk of ash into the tray and stubbing it out before returning to the bedroom.

Wesker was still staring at him when he entered, his red eyes focusing on his hand. _What in the hell? I had no idea people of his orientation had even survived the virus… _He knew by looking that this was no African American or Caucasian, but must have been of some tribal descent. Native American probably…But how…His eye color was already odd but this was downright strange. It was a mystery and one the blonde would love to study; delve into the secret that clung to this odd being.

"You done staring at me like you'd like to eat me?" Sensou asked, his deep baritone disturbing Wesker from his thoughts. Albert opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a weak rasp and a hacking cough as he started to shiver.

_Damn this disease! Damn you Redfield! Damn you bastards who dare to defy me! _He spluttered and hissed in pain, curling into himself as he started to shake uncontrollably. He was deftly aware of the other throwing the covers off of him, and picking him up. Wesker was too ill to argue as he was rushed into the bathroom, the churn of water filling his subconscious as he was tossed down into the most frigid water. It shocked his system, and he flailed against the arms that held him in that horribly freezing pool.

"Let go!" He wailed, kicking and trying desperately to get away from that chill, clinging to the warmth that Sen's arms gave. His head lolled, his strength sapped by the water and his vicious flailing…The last thing he remembered was staring into two pools of anxious azure.

A – S – A – S – A – S

Okay…To explain the weird OC in this story is kind of difficult for me. Sensou is an old character that is mine and mine alone. His body is modeled after Orcs in World of Warcraft – so he's a pretty big guy – and he looks like one but without tusks and is an Indian. I figured that being an Indian was a better choice for his orientation considering how he is and was the best choice for his humanoid form. And yes…He IS older, as in…forty-five years old.


	2. Chapter 2

Sensou rolled his azure eyes as he stood in the kitchen over the stove, waiting for the water to boil so he could throw the noodles in. His shirt was off, thrown over his easy chair as it were, after the morning's exciting events of throwing the smaller male in a cold bath in an attempt to save his life. The thrashing had soaked his abdomen, making him strip down to his pants and call in sick to work. Now, he was making the other some ramen and a peanut butter sandwich…

The Indian could hear the blonde grumbling as he slept, even with the TV still on, and he couldn't help but wonder if he was always that way, irritable even in sleep. He threw the noodles into the vat of boiling water, watching them simmer and become edible.

Sen fished around for a knife, smearing the peanut butter to a loud groan from the male in his living room. "Does he ever stop bitching?" He asked aloud as he fished the pasta out and mixed it with the contents of a small silver package.

Putting the food on a metal green plate, the soup in a bowl, he moved for the living area, setting down the platter on the coffee table. Sensou sat down, careful not to sit on the blonde's legs, and turned off the television. He looked at the uncomfortable blonde, putting his arm behind the smaller man's shoulders to shake him into at least a conscious state. "Uh…" Albert mumbled, soon growling in annoyance at the sight of a pair of glowing lightning orbs.

"Open up," the Indian muttered, twirling the fork in the contents of the soup, intending to feed the other.

_This is ridiculous…_ Wesker hissed venomously in his mind, feeling a shudder of tremors wrack his form and the need to **curl** back into the behemoth's side like some sort of child filled him. _Pathetic…_ He continued to curse and threaten everything he could think of: from the Native American, to the lumpy, horrible couch. Some noodles were pushed into his mouth, and he chewed, swallowing in disgust.

"You're still pretty weak," Sensou commented, "but at least you seem to be getting better." He continued feeding him, giving him soup to consume, and broth to warm him. Albert felt like spitting out the deplorable excuse for food.

_Being spoon-fed…like a child._ Wesker attempted to push him away, failing rather miserably, his arm barely registering the command against the solid wall of muscle that was the other's chest. What was he made out of? Rock?! It felt odd touching Wesker's palm, iron wrapped in worn, warm leather. But there was something else, his fingers trailing down to find smooth, not soft, but certainly less coarse then what he had just touched. A scar? There seemed to be far more as his fingers went lower…

The Indian's callused palm suddenly encased Albert's wrist, drawing a hiss from the blonde, his crimson eyes narrowing on the difference. He was…small in comparison to the large man before him, the fingers running over one another to compensate for the fact that he was so…fragile. It occurred to him that this beast could have done whatever he wanted with him.

So why keep him? Was he expecting compensation? Did he think to use him for selfish gain? He'd heard of things like this going on in the world before his, people finding drugged others, helping them recuperate only to steal their pride and dignity.

Wesker snarled in disgust, his features faltering as he caught sight of the other's eyes. He was a master of reading others, or so he'd like to think…Because the expression – from what he could see of it – was one of utter concern. He snorted. "What are you gawking at?" The blonde snapped, eyes narrowed, and face twisted.

"You looked upset for a second." The Indian replied, his deep baritone rumbling through his chest, and despite his fingers now being an inch away from the skin of the other's abdomen, he swore he could feel the vibration of the noise. "I wanted to make sure I didn't...scare you."

"Scare? Don't flatter yourself." The blonde growled back in agitation.

"I didn't mean to offend you," Sensou supplied, azure eyes becoming half-lidded. Wesker rolled his eyes, as if the other hadn't on multiple occasions. Sensing the other's disdain, the larger man sighed and shook his head. "You certainly like to bitch…don't you?"

Albert growled, teeth barred in a snarl. "Careful, you'll give yourself frown lines at that rate." The Indian gave a boisterous laugh, eyes twinkling in amusement, and chest once again causing the other's fingers to twitch against the tremors. Wesker jerked, trying to free himself from Sensou's grip, and hissed when the other just watched him.

"Calm down," the larger man chastised, "you'll hurt yourself again. Furthermore, you need all the strength you can get." The blonde obeyed, un-tensing under the scrutinizing gaze of glowing, lightning blue.

_I hate this, I hate him, I hate my weakness, and I hate _**_Redfield_**_, the BSAA, everything that dares to defy my will! Can they not understand that I gave them a fresh start in a perfect world?! _Even after all this, he couldn't quite grasp the concept that others wouldn't rejoice in his world._ Fools, all of them…_

Wesker's gaze refocused on the other as he looked to the fork in the bowl. The Indian followed his stare and raised a brow, before turning back to the smaller male. "What? Think you can do it alone?"

"Of course…" Wesker managed to huff, earning himself the privilege of the utensil. A tired smirk played on his lips. A small victory, but it was what it was. Perhaps he wasn't losing his edge…There was still hope. Much to his dismay, the behemoth was actually right. His strength was slowly, but surely returning. It became more noticeable after the incident that very morning, when his fever had spiked and he'd been sent reeling into frigid water.

Sensou said nothing, his azure eyes merely focused on his charge as he ate from the bowl. Seeing that the blonde was capable of eating without his help, the Indian stood and made his way into his bedroom. He tossed open a drawer, selecting a white undershirt that jumped out, even in the dark. He slid it over his head, walking back into the living room to pull back on his leather jacket, the only sound the slip of cloth over coarse skin for a moment.

Sensou noted that the blonde had stopped eating to glare in his general direction, as if trying to tear him apart with his crimson irises. He chuckled at the other's insistence that he was useless, something to be discarded and destroyed, despite saving him. "I'm going to the store, I'll be back soon." He paused. "Want anything specific, Blondie?"

"…**Blondie**?" If he thought the glare before was bad, it was nothing compared to this one. Forget about tearing him apart, he wanted to maim him with twisted instruments. _Yep, definitely a noble…_ Sensou gave a chuckle, but it sounded hollow even to his ears. "Guess not," he left, locking the door behind him.

A-s-A-s-A-s-A-s

If it was one thing that Sensou honestly liked about the Borderlands, it was that there was an endless amount of small corner shops. No big ticket names like in the city, just normal convenience stores that you could walk to any day of the week…As long as a mass attack of infected wasn't prone to happen, or be in the process of happening. Most of them were shady, selling drugs, and more importantly, alcohol. Both of which were forbidden within the high, mighty fortress-like structure that made up the capitol.

The Indian walked down the make-shift sidewalk, azure eyes hidden behind a veil of dark glass, irises roving the crowds of drug-dealers, buyers, sellers, scumbags, thugs, rapists, brawlers. It was hard to tell one from the other, the cesspool that was the Borderlands roiling together to form a collage of the lowest of the low. Sensou chuckled, his leather boots scraping over the pavement as he stepped inside the simple shop where he got his usual groceries.

This place never ceased to amaze, it was the kind you saw in movies – which were coincidentally also banned, the only ones left being those of the educational brand – where the characters stop by during a road trip… Minus the fact that it would have fit well in a post-apocalyptic setting…which it did. It was relatively clean, or, as clean as you could get these days; and as far as Sen knew, the guy who owned it was one of the less shady dealers.

It was the closest near his dwelling for him to purchase alcohol, which he grabbed, along with bottled water, and some other groceries. Bread, meat, pasta, and some milk – _damn…this shit is getting expensive._ The big guy in charge had made it illegal to sell milk too…gave people vitamins that could do the same thing as milk. Apparently, the guy had a thing against cows. Or maybe he just thought it was gross that every time you ate meat in the old world, you were eating hundreds of the beasts…in one container.

Sensou rolled his eyes, putting the milk up since it cost half his paycheck, and walked up to the counter, grocery basket in his right hand, left hand in his pocket. "Hey, did'ja hear?" A man asked the cashier as the Indian waited in line.

"Hear what?" The young brunette asked, her crimson eyes exposed in the dim light of the shop. The blacked out windows seemed to help against the sun but her eyes were still squinted to veil against the florescent lights of the shop. Girl had it bad… She started ringing up his items with the ancient register, the dull _ding_s almost offending to Sen's ears. He turned his eyes to window, the dull patter of rain blocking out the annoying noise, his face holding no expression.

"The BSAA they say, somehow managed ta drug and fight Albert Wesker, 'pparently he hasn't been seen since. Everybody in the capitol is freaking out, said the last place he was seen was supposedly down some alleys."

"How do they know it was him?" The girl asked, suddenly eager in the gossip. Sensou's hearing returned to the conversation, his eyes widening slightly. What did the megalomaniac even look like?

"He's blonde, they say he's British or somethin', well buil' an' really pretty." The young man shrugged, his ruddy black hair stained with streaks of blonde. "He was wearing a suit, said he was giving a speech or something when it happened."

The Indian stiffened, breath hitching, and his jaw clenched. _N-No…It can't be. He can't…be…I…_

He was thankful that the two were so wrapped up in their conversation, because his mind was reeling, sweat dribbling down his temple. Seeing such a thing probably would have shocked them, people in their world didn't sweat; they just didn't…Sensou's nostrils flared. He tried to even out his breathing as not to alert them.

_He…Albert Wesker…Is in my house. The man who…Everything…Everywhere…His fault._ He cut off the train of thought, trying to prove to himself that it wasn't possible for the other to be the megalomaniac, trying to count the reasons he wasn't. But the pieces fit too well, a puzzle being filled in by just the terrible accent the boy before him had. He wanted to curse, break, and virtually scream at the irony of it all.

Irony? No, that bitch had nothing to do with this. There was no denying what was right before his eyes, the man who had taken everything from him was in his home, under his blanket, on his lumpy couch…In his living room…He'd been in his bed, in his bath. Sensou had fed him his food, nursed him, helped him…

_Albert Wesker…Monster with an angel's face…A façade, a mask, a lie of beauty sheltered in the grotto of a demon. _He remembered the words his grandmother had once spoken, her aged face flashing white-hot across his vision, and he shuddered in remembrance. Pain of both physical and mental power fueled him, feeding the flames that burned deep inside his heart, stirring the embers of hatred for the beast that had taken, and taken, and taken. He'd stolen everything from him!

_He destroyed the world; turned people into monsters…took _**_my_**_ people…my life…my everything!_ His whole reason for even being alive had been snapped up in just a few seconds, eaten before him by a hungry virus that had swept through his system and made him…_this_. Sensou threw down the groceries and left, stomping out the door and ignoring the cry of indignation that the cashier gave.

He was only a few feet away when he felt the boy who'd been talking to her tugging at his arm and yelling at him. The Indian swung around and belted him right in the mouth, sending him flying back against a building with a deafening _crack_. No one cared, and everyone who saw walked away as if nothing had happened. Death in the Borderlands? Big deal…Nothing stayed dead…Not anymore.

A-s-A-s-A-s-A-s

Sensou forced himself to slowly open and close his apartment door, the lock giving a _click_ as it slid into place, and he shook with the exertion of staying…relatively calm. He jerked off his jacket, stepping into the kitchen. He took off his hat and threw it over the bar, doing the same with his jacket. The Indian then grabbed a knife, the _shing_ of the blade sliding out of its place sounding in an instant.

His boots gave quiet thumps across the floor, his muscles tensing, and azure eyes wide whilst scanning the gloom. Sensou's grip on the knife tightened, images of slowly sawing the other's head from his shoulders filling his mind's eye with horrific precision. Tendons would snap; the knife – slightly dull – would take force to actually move through the super human's flesh. The Indian knew that he'd have to keep pulling the other by his hair, knew he'd have to in order to keep the juices from flowing back together and reviving him to strength.

Sensou stepped over the threshold of the living area, he could hear the other's steady breaths of slumber, and he almost felt the tang of the blonde's sweat. _"Kill or be killed, remember the old ways…Give and take, a life for a life"._ The Indian gulped, laying his hand over the door's worn surface, feeling the other's pulse through his chest…The way he laid over him helplessly for warmth.

_"What do you mean, Elder?" A child's innocent voice rang out in his memory. "What if a man takes many lives? And not just that of animals…Because…Isn't an animal's soul as much as a man's?"_ Sensou's breath hitched as his eyes widened, backing away from the door rapidly.

_"Such a thing is not a man at all…But a beast! A monster who wears the flesh of a man! Look into the eyes of such a creature and feel the suffering of their victims!" The older Indian's voice rang out, his hazy brown eyes filled with a rage that not even the fire before him could create._ Sensou grit his teeth, falling back on the couch, and threw down the knife on the coffee table, hissing in pain as memories of his tribe seared across his vision.

_Children laughing, dancing around the rising fire of crimson and waving gold, women laughing as they weaved together fabrics made of adoration, and men boisterously naming the mighty beasts they had felled._ Tears welled in his eyes as he ran his hands into his dark mane, shuddering, and shaking with the exertion of releasing at least a portion of pain that had happened that night. He couldn't remember the exact time, not even really the day after all was done…

_The air was cold, the smell of pine thick in the air as the Indian sat on his bike, azure eyes narrowed on the rows of houses in the distance. He could see the rise of smoke from several chimneys, the smell of autumn fresh on the wind as it dashed on the plains to meet him. Sensou took a deep breath, fighting the chill that found its way into his heart._

_He'd been sitting out there, at least a mile away; in hopes of stalling off the inevitable reception he was bound to receive. Sensou kicked the throttle though, propelling down the last stretch of road to fall in beside his old home, curving off the road to stop on the back porch._

_The wooden boards looked to need replacing, the windows brittle and cracked, some holes in the top ones…The whole place was covered in peeling white paint and the drapes needed to be beat of moths and…other unsightly things._

_Sensou walked up the steps, feeling them creak and move under his weight, he grimaced and neared the back door. He stopped, hand so close to the knob, the old door reminding him of years past when he ran out into the field with his slingshot or gun…Years and years of memories flooded him by just standing in front of the door. The Indian took a deep breath and stepped inside, surveying his surroundings as he did._

_He cursed himself on second thought, feeling his…instincts return in full force. Damn, it still looked the same…Nothing had changed in all the time he'd been gone. The chimney sat on the middle back wall with a bear pelt – a real one – before it, a dusty, brown leather chair in the corner, and the couch sitting under the window._

_"Kunsi?" His deep baritone rang out, his mind silently begging for a response. Sensou's eyes lit up when an elderly Native American woman appeared; her long hair touched the floor in a thick braid. It was jet black with large amounts of white streaking through it. She was so wrinkled that her eyes looked like they were always closed, but to a hunter like him, her chocolate brown eyes were still visible._

_The elderly woman let out a cry of joy, her arms opening as he approached her. Sensou wrapped his arms around her and lifted her clear off the ground, her faded, floral patterned dress feeling worn beneath his fingers. He knew it well…He'd sent it to her for Christmas five years ago. "Kunsi, how are you?" Sensou asked, his azure eyes twinkling._

_She replied in rapid Lakota: "Waste, waste. Taŋyáŋ yaúŋ he, Takoja?_

_"Waste, waste!" He replied, laughing as she did, her face scrunched in joy. He held her close, almost fearing she would slip away if he let her go. He took in her scent, that of spices and herbs…Cinnamon. It was a fragrance he was never tired of taking in from her, the spicy musk of sweetness floating about her everywhere she went, it even peppered her home._

_But if it was one thing he knew of his grandmother, it was that she was unrestrained. She waved him off and returned to the kitchen, bustling about in the aged room, with its cracked tile, old table, and dusty cabinets._

_Sensou sat down and watched her, his azure eyes following her movements as she made him dinner. He wanted to help but she smacked his hand with an old wooden spoon every time he tried, fretting at the calluses and scars that had developed on the tissue. Not wishing to worry her, he went and sat down, content to watch her work instead._

_His eyes drifted down to a jagged mark left on the back of his right hand, the slash mark white against his dark skin. His knuckles and veins bulged from beneath flesh, the coarseness of his palm reassuring him in his existence. Every now and again he wondered if he was still alive…It was the little things, like watching his grandmother move like a twenty-year-old, that assured him he was._

_Sensou's jaw twitched as he looked back up, pulling his mind from the darkness to watch his Kunsi hum and scrape cheese into a boiling pot with knowing precision. He smiled. It was always the little things that made him know that he was alive…_

_Smash!_ Sensou was startled from his reminiscence, azure eyes widening from the sudden impact of something against the bedroom wall. He stood, breathing deep as he walked up to the door. The Indian grit his teeth like he did those years ago…And opened the door. Sensou moved inside, azure scanning the gloom before he found a pair of crimson eyes glaring at him from below his comforter.

"Water would be lovely…" The blonde grumbled, and the Native American nodded slowly, unable to find another response to the other's words.

Sensou walked back into his kitchen, finding a clean glass he grabbed a bottle of water and filled it a little more than halfway. He stopped, hands resting on the cabinet as he stared at the liquid inside the crystal. What was he doing? _"Kill or be killed, remember the old ways…Give and take, a life for a life."_

"A life…For a life," he murmured, azure eyes sliding to become half-lidded. _"Such a thing is not a man at all…But a beast! A monster who wears the flesh of a man!"_

"A beast…with an angel's face…a beautiful creature with a monster's heart." Sensou whispered, gulping silently. "How do you kill such a thing without becoming it? Or…what if you already are it?" His brow furrowed as he stared at the water, as if the elder could be brought back and answer him; as if it held all the truths to the secrets he asked.

_"Take a man's pride and he has nothing left!" A voice rang out, laughing and joking, as if it were obvious._

_"You think that's all a man's got?!" Another voice asked, one he knew so well._

_"But of course! If you take away a man's pride he has nothing left. It's like a security blanket, but one you carry your whole life. Remember that, dear brother, and you'll never lose!"_

"A man's pride…" His eyes narrowed, and a sadistic grin painted his features as he moved to his bathroom. He jerked open a drawer and drew out a container of pills, the little capsules jumping around as he shook it. Sensou popped it open and dropped four into his palm before returning to the kitchen and opening them all, dumping the contents into the glass of water.

He mixed the dusty substance into the liquid before going back to the bedroom, and handing it to the blonde. Wesker downed the water quickly, setting the glass down on the table beside the bed once he was done. Sensou leaned against the doorway to the bathroom and watched him, azure eyes half-lidded. Albert paused as he rolled over, his eyes narrowing.

"What was in that?" His voice was slurred, and he cursed mildly as the other simply left, returning a few moments later with his hat and jacket on.

The Indian picked him up, making him grumble curses at his captor. "Nothing you need to worry about Blondie…Or should I call you Albert?" His heart seized up and he hissed at the taller man, wishing to ask what he was doing, but his body wouldn't respond to the command to open his mouth. Sensou chuckled, "We're going for a little ride…" He walked the blonde out of his home, getting on his bike as Wesker kept hissing at him.

_What does he want?! Where is he taking me?! Bastard! What are you doing?! Are you taking me to Redfield?!_ He wanted to beat the answer out of the larger man, to rip him limb from limb for his treachery, but it seemed the Native American had other ideas in mind…

The world of grey clouds and lifeless, cracking buildings raced by and away, making Albert's head spin at the velocity. _Slow down you fool!_ His body was jarred against the other's form, making him cringe into the other, his crimson eyes narrowed as he stared at the white of the other's shirt. For many moments this dull torture wracked his form till…it stopped.

Sensou slowed, the world becoming visible to Wesker once more. _The forest? So he's going to leave me to be eaten by beasts… _But that didn't seem to be the case either as the Indian stood, holding the blonde close to his form in one arm as he couldn't stand on his own still. _What…did he give me?_ He still felt stronger, but his body seemed unable to obey simple commands.

There was a rustle as Sensou laid out some kind of cloth on the earth, releasing Wesker to fall on it. The blonde cursed him as the shellshock ran through his form, making him jerk in pain. Sensou pulled off his jacket and hat to throw them over his bike seat. "Where…What…**Why**?!" Albert managed, venomous glare settling on lightning azure.

"Because a beast deserves much worse than death." Sensou answered, his face still shrouded from Albert's heated glare as night fell upon them quickly. "I'm not going to take your life…" There was a quiet _click_…And Wesker's eyes widened as the other removed his belt and was suddenly over him.

"I'm going to take your pride…"

A-S-a-S-A-S

Okay everyone, Gabriel here. Anyway, I did a little research into the language that the Crow people use and I got: Lakota, on a lot of websites. So the words in here are from that language…I used a lot of search engines for this one but it was pretty difficult. Everywhere I went the words were spelled differently. Apparently, it's just how you hear them, or interpret to hear them…I didn't put a lot of words in here because I'm not comfortable with screwing it up. Sensou is my OC; but alas, he doesn't like to speak much of his home language because it makes him sad…Damn. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it!

Translations:

Waste – Good

Taŋyáŋ yaúŋ he – How are you?

Takoja – Grandchild

Kunsi – Grandmother (mother of father)


	3. Chapter 3

So, here is the third chapter to The Hunted! The complete story up to date. I will try to get a fourth chapter going…If I can get any reviews. _

W~S

When consciousness returned to him, it was slow, and sluggish. He felt no pain, except when he shifted his lower body, a spike of dull soreness shooting up his spine. The warmth of the sun over his face and chest made him wince, pressing his face further into - His red irises snapped open, something he immediately regretted and lurched off of the blanket.

Wesker would never admit to being flustered over anything. He was not some simpering fool and could face death multiple times without ever batting a lash...But his mind scattered, trying to locate what little information he could about his current situation. And then it all came rushing back in a haze as that infernal pain returned when he tried to move off the blanket, the one that started at his -

Memories; horrible and true spread over his vision...

_Dark hands everywhere, spreading over his skin, making him cry out as the moon watched. He tried to breathe and found he couldn't, but really, he was swallowing air. Consuming, something was taking him over, robbing him of the ability to think as his fingers speared through night black locks and -_

"**Fuck**!" Wesker roared, sending his fist into the earth, and leaving a sizeable crater behind. His teeth clenched so hard he swore the sharp canines would crack on one another. Although the feeling of dreaded helplessness was gone, even though he was once more powerful, the dreaded weakness lingered from the hideous images that swirled below his closed eyes...

_Calloused, scarred hands mapped out every part of him, branding their way into his memory as the tips of his fingers stroked down his sides..._

Albert stood, the dull ache in his backside going on ignored in his volatile state as he tried to find clothing. And there, folded neatly beside the place the beast had - He stopped, snarling at the pile of clothes left behind. His attire, folded neatly and sewn back together by a practiced hand. The silken white shirt, the thick black coat and matching slacks, with that same red tie...

_His mouth, dear god, what was he doing with his mouth? Albert shuddered, his hands still tangled in midnight black locks as the other's lips occupied his. Sticky, crimson liquid rubbed against his cheek and he remembered scratching the other..._

The piece of filth had cleaned him, and as he pulled on his underwear he realized that the behemoth had put some sort of mixture **inside** him. His face drew back; he dare not touch that area till he was behind closed doors again, and could properly sanitize the bastard from his form. But still, every time he closed his eyes...

_He was everywhere at once, not allowing Wesker a moment's rest, every breath the blonde took unable to leave him in anything but a twisted sound of unwanted pleasure. Those azure eyes watching his face all the while. Albert grit his teeth and turned his face away, shuddering still as he was forced to take pleasure from this - this...He gasped, chest heaving as a dark skinned hand touched his face. Wesker's eyes widened, hands glued to the other's chest as he searched those blue depths...He was staring...Those eyes..._

Wesker couldn't find a proper word to describe the monster that had been so disgusting and putrid as the one that had committed so heinous a crime upon him last night. Once he was dressed he tore apart the fabric of the blanket, even touching the vile thing almost made him want to vomit. Some part of his mind affiliated this patched piece of wool with the images that refused to leave every time he blinked. But destroying it brought him little mercy, the trees around him falling victim to his wrath as the only witnesses to the night before besides himself.

_Albert sat in the other's lap, cradled to a warm, coarse, thundering chest. He vainly sought to rip the other's heart out, but his arms were trapped between them...And he was so..._**_tired_**_. He panted, unable to do much else when the air around seemed so hot. His lungs sought relief, sucking in the cold night air finally, and getting as little respite out of it as the scorching air of before. The behemoth was staring down at him, his eyes glassy and lost...As if he wasn't really looking at him. How many times had he been forced to gain pleasure from him? He'd lost count... Wesker looked at him, his own eyes half lidded and tired. They stared at one another, unable to really see the other..._

Albert walked through the forest, unable to see the path the other's usual mode of transportation would have left. He doubted he'd covered it up, or, perhaps he had in hindsight. Anything to make sure that he wouldn't be found by the blonde ruler. Wesker's face twisted into something between a snarl and a smirk, crimson irises focusing on the crunching leaves below his feet. _You think you can hide from me after what you did? You sick, twisted piece of _**_shit_**_..._

Wesker's mind wandered, something he wasn't prone to, but found little use in trying to stop in his current predicament. Perhaps it was wise to simply forget it ever happened. No, **no**...His teeth clenched, churning against one another. He would not let this go. Nothing would stop him from getting revenge on the bastard that had the gall to do...To do something like that to him.

He was a **god**. And a filthy piece of scum had touched him, defiled him...**Marked** him like a dog with a bone. This was unacceptable. He would instigate a man hunt the world over in search of the dark-skinned, blue eyed garbage.

_He was looking at him again. Not through him or over him, actually at him. Wesker gasped and grit his teeth again as the other watched him. As he was pressed and held there, trapped between bliss and self denial with his claws embedded in the other's hide he realized that no one had ever done this before. Control was not something he relinquished, not even in the throes of death. Nothing was ever over him, nothing took power from him...Every time the beast touched him, bruised him, caressed him inside and out he was turned into a helpless mass in his hands. He was not in control. And it was even more terrible, a more hideous truth than he could ever remember...He had never known ecstasy like this before..._

Wesker trudged through the lower village outside the mighty walls of his great utopia with disgust, watching the people here cower from him with wide eyes...His narrowed eyes scouring the faces of those he passed. He made his way to the gates, but searched fruitlessly for a certain animal...

He remembered very little of what the other looked like, his eyes having been weak at the time, and the beast's insistence of using nothing but candles about his home left his face a shroud. But dark skin, azure eyes, and scars were dominant in his memory from - Wesker stopped his train of thought. He knew for a fact that the other wore leather by his scent - and that damnable spice, cinnamon...and a hat. It was shaped like...He sneered. The other wore a hat affiliated mostly with Americans. A cowboy hat, how cliché.

S~W

Wesker would never say that he purposefully paced the lower city slowly in search of a tall man with dark skin, glowing azure eyes, and a ridiculous hat. But he did. He took his time in this detestable hell-hole in search of the monster. He found nothing. The other had been clever, he'd concede to that much at least.

He'd driven him around the night before, into that forest, and had probably hidden his mode of transportation as well. Albert sneered and made his way to the gates. They were tall, reinforced steel and iron working together in a marvelous array to keep the filth of the world at bay. As he approached he walked past the line of people, silencing all with a harsh glance. He smirked. Even here he was known and feared...

"Who do you think - oh!" The guard by the doors eyes widened on the sight of his disheveled god and Wesker snarled.

"Open the gate." It was a simple command but he had to snap once more for the idiot to get it through his thick skull. The other soldiers parted quickly from his way, almost feeling the burning rage that erupted from him at any insolent eye contact. The blonde made quick work of the distance between him and his home at the middle of the city...Two spiraling towers that echoed around one another as they reached for the sky overlooking the river.

It was an ingenious piece of architecture, and Wesker himself had felt proud of its construction and completion only a second year into his new world. He strode into the building, immediately assaulted by his advisors, generals, and other members of his council. Meaningless questions passed by, unheard.

"What happened to you, sire?"

"Are you well?"

"Did the BSAA capture you? How did you escape?"

"Where were you?"

"Do you know what has happened since you left?"

He did catch stray, promising bits of information on the war with Japan, and the cleaning of vermin - those that had not changed when Uroborus had hit the atmosphere - from the earth. At least some things were going well... Wesker quickly found his way in his chambers.

Where he proceeded to rip the clothes from his form and throw them in the incinerator. The shower water scorched his skin, his regenerating abilities healing the flesh as quickly as it was blistered. He scrubbed viciously...Especially **there**. Nothing was left untouched, his whole form scrubbed till he was sure no spot had been left unscathed. The soreness returned though and he hissed at that particular reminder.

His hand-crafted soap and herbal shampoo would take out most of the impurities he knew, but in the long run he'd be showering twice a day for at least two weeks to destroy the rest of the contaminants.

When he left the shower the whole room was steamed heavily, and remnants of his blood were swirling down the drain from where he'd scrubbed so viciously. He brushed his teeth, making the gums bleed profusely as he tried to take away the feeling of the other's tongue in his mouth. Wesker shuddered, shaking his head and finished in the bathroom.

He dressed in crisp slacks, a button up and down white cotton shirt, and a black silk tie to finish it off. His shoes were in mint condition, as were his sunglasses. Albert let out a breath he didn't need to hold. Everything was perfect, exactly as he'd left it. There was nothing here now to remind him of the beast, and it was like that he continued.

By the time he was done, ready to make a public appearance to alert the world of his return, mock Redfield on live television, and take in everything that had happened while he'd been gone.

He'd actually forgotten the monster.

W~S

Wesker stood among the crowd, glad that none of them made those annoying cheers and such as he gave his speech. He'd always detested such public political displays...But now, as he gazed over the crowd he couldn't help but smirk sometimes. Perfect.

"...and now, I think it best to salute Mr. Redfield for his -" His mocking tone came to an abrupt stop, his mouth drying, and eyes glued to a point in the crowd. The dull roar of those breathing before him faded, the rustle of the wind as it blasted his flank, and sent a strand of hair over his brow forgotten.

There...The beast was...He was right in front of him, only some yards away...The wide brimmed, black hat was unmistakable, and he waited. His breathing he was sure had stopped, and the crowd stood in awkward, curious silence, shifting as they stared at their leader. The hat was down turned, obscuring anything below, and the person before them hid the wearer from view.

_Raise your head...Look at me you deplorable..._**_Look_**_ at me. _His eyes were glued on that hat, the shifting of it, as slowly, his breath gone, it rose. Sunglasses hid crimson irises, the hat obscuring mussed brown hair, and the pale, round face of a boy sitting on his father's shoulders. Wesker sucked in a breath, eyes wide as the boy stared at him curiously, his fingers knitted with his father's on the elder man's shoulder.

It wasn't him.

"...for his display of trying to kill me. For thinking that I could be killed by something as faulty as a would-be 'virus' that could be made by an elementary child's chemistry set." His voice came out a snarl, strained and harsh as his eyes stayed glued to that hat. A few chuckled, those few who were not standing near him, could not sense the wrath echoing around him.

It wasn't him.

"I am this world's god, nothing will change that. I have created an advanced form of life, created a city of peace and order...And very soon, it will be the whole of the world." Albert's jaw clenched, feeling the need to run forward and snatch the hat from the child's head and crush it. He wanted to destroy it, tear it to ribbons and burn it with all the other reminders of **him**.

Because...it wasn't him.

S~W

"Ban American-style clothing sire?" The young woman's brow furrowed. "What would that pertain to?"

"Out of date styles...Like that western style with the spurs, and such."

"You mean the cowboy style? I'm not aware many would wear such - " She stopped when he cast a harsh eye over her. "It shall be done sire." The girl bowed, walking out the door, the click of her heels resonating for a long moment.

Wesker stood once she'd left, making his way to the window to stand before it, and stared out over his world. He'd almost blissfully forgotten, almost let the other fade from his eyes. Till he saw that dreaded thing in the crowd. The whole world could have imploded on itself and he never would have even noticed. Albert clenched his teeth, rubbing his forehead, and breathed hard through his nose.

His mind was split at a crossroads, unsure of what to do or to make of what was happening right before him. He could choose to move on, and continue banning everything that would ever remind him of the other, or he could initiate a manhunt that may turn fruitless in the end without ever being solved. He hissed, grinding his teeth and grabbed his phone, snatching it from its cradle.

The ringing sounded in his ear, shocking him from his choice, wide crimson eyes staring at something beyond...Something he couldn't name. The air around him seemed to freeze and become colder. There was no warmth here, not like there was in the blue-eyed beast's lair, and he could only watch the light of the moon shift over the floor...He'd stood there for hours.

Wesker stood there a long moment, poised over an abyss he didn't want to even glimpse down...He was going to call **her**. His face was expressionless as he slowly slid the phone back into place, the quiet, near silent shift of his clothes the only noise. The blonde walked away from his desk, and into his room. He stared at the bed for a long moment, adequate for him he supposed...He didn't roll around much but a double bed still afforded space to where he could surround himself with his work.

He didn't bother stripping down, instead, he threw down his coat and jerked off his tie. His shoes hit the floor as he tugged them and his socks off. Wesker glared at the floor, ignoring the world around him, and started unbuttoning his shirt. It didn't occur to him at first when he had lived here, alone, how cold it was...

He looked at the thermostat. Sixty-seven...It had not been moved. He turned it up to seventy, making his way back over to his bed. The floors were hard wood, no creaking sounded, nothing made noise here... Wesker pulled out a book and started to read. A book he'd read no less than a hundred times. Notes in the margins, and finger prints on the pages. Although he was not much of a philosopher himself, he did somewhat enjoy the work of Neitzsche. The Gay Science had to be one of his favorites, and it wasn't just because of his excerpt: God is Dead.

Albert frowned, placing the book back into his place and laying back. He stared at the ceiling, one arm above his head, and the other over his chest. Perhaps it was the discomfort of sleeping in his slacks that kept him awake, maybe it was because he hadn't worked enough, or - Blue eyes surrounded in black. He jerked, crimson eyes wide as he stared at the ceiling. He could have sworn...

Wesker towered his pillows and laid back against them instead, not wanting to lie back in that position again. It left him too vulnerable, too susceptible to the memories that plagued him when he had blinked. No, such a thing could not be allowed. He would not let himself be driven astray by fleeting emotions and memories of a monster with azure eyes that stared right through him.

He snarled. No one looked through him. He was a god, not something to be ignored. Not only had the behemoth had the indecency to touch him, he had out right ignored him during the act...As if - Albert's eyes widened, body freezing in conclusion...

The beast with the blue eyes...He had not satisfied himself even once through the duration of the night before. Not...Once...

W~S

Sensou inhaled the smoke of his cigarette heavily, leaning on the wall of the cage as the men he'd just killed were thrown out onto the piles that lined the other side of the wire. The rows of people in the crowds had settled and were steadily dispersing, making their way out. The nobles and higher-ups who watched from the seats far above in window tight upper rooms were filing out too.

He took a long drag and flicked the remains away before walking out of the ring. Street fighting had always been a big thing, even before the release of the virus, and there was no stopping it now. Now, you could kill your opponents and they'd be back up in a few hours. But some things had changed.

Somebody created a pill that increased the pain of being hit by ten. Almost everybody took it...Even he did. Actually, he had to triple the dosage to get the desired effect, and still he was shrugging off hits. Sure, he'd wake up sore, but it didn't really matter. Sensou picked up his hat, dusted it off, and slipped it on. He picked up his jacket - his shirt in tattered pieces all over the ring - and pulled it on.

"You know they banned those hats." A young boy said, his ruddy face peering at the Native from the top of one of the bleachers where those in the villages sat.

"Good thing I don't live in the city then." Sensou chuckled, making his way out the long tunnel, and back topside. Yellow, blinking lights dotted the way back, a few popping out, and others buzzing loudly.

The cage matches paid well, almost as much as Crusader jobs did, and anybody who was anyone betted on him. Not that he cared. He didn't get a share of the bets like the announcers and matchers did, every contestant was paid the same around. Lately though, he'd been hearing rumors that some guys would get paid double if they beat him. Sensou smirked, making his way around a corner to his apartment.

It wasn't really the money that had him going there anyway...He just wanted to fight. He wanted to feel blood on his knuckles and hear the roar of his own in his ears. He just wanted to feel...alive. Sensou paused outside the door to his apartment building, standing there for a long moment he just stared at the door knob where his hand rested. A scar stared back at him, new and white in the moonlight.

He could usually remember how he got every mark on his body, but now they were fading from him. Now, when he looked at some of the marks tattooed into his flesh he wondered how they'd gotten there. Some of them had started to fade rapidly, the virus inside of him stitching skin together anew...That only gave him room for more and new scars.

He didn't bruise or cut easy, no...It was the fights. Whenever he'd gotten into battles - even before the virus - it had been to the death. No baby cuts or half-ass shooting where he'd been. Kill or be killed...

His eyes narrowed as he jerked the door open and walked inside. Sensou got to his apartment quickly, slamming the door behind, and stared into the black. He could see everything though, nothing was shaded...Everything was as clear as if the sunlight were shining over it all. But still he ran his hand along the wall, aware that flecks of blood would smear there. He didn't care.

The Native pulled off his coat and threw it over his easy chair before sitting down in it, pulling his hat off to hear it _thump _to the floor. One of his arms covered his eyes, and he didn't even jump when the drapes were slammed open by a vicious breeze outside. The moonlight touched his skin, his scars seeming to glow with a silver light.

He sighed, closing his eyes, and remembered the song his mother use to sing to him to make him sleep. Sensou sang it to himself, breathing softly, and stopped abruptly when he felt something touch his chest. He removed his arm from his eyes, brow furrowed...Well, he had thought something had touched his chest.

He stood, grunting when his knee popped, and made his way to his room. The Native stopped in the doorway though, irises falling on the bed, and closed his eyes again with a heavy sigh. He had yet to wash the sheets and he knew if he got in his bed right now that he'd be able to smell the blonde. He wasn't yet ready to tread down that path yet...

Sensou pushed his face to the wall, aware that the night before was still burned fresh in his memory, and that there would be no way to escape it forever. Distractions would only go so far he knew, and it was not in his nature to postpone what was meant to come. He rubbed his face, the inescapable coming right below the surface of his vision.

_An angel lay below him, beautiful and mussed, breathing labored and serene faced. His eyes narrowed slowly on the sight, face impassive as his fingers journeyed over the soft flesh of his cheek and down to his chest. As he took in the other's form one last time, it occurred to him that he was still so painfully unfulfilled. All this night he had focused on giving the other every cent of bliss he was capable of. And through all that he had found the bittersweet agony of not being able to release. Guilt clouded his judgment and he withdrew from the other silently. No...He would live with his guilt and the pain of tonight as a reminder. Forever._

The Native pulled away, taking a heavy breath and stripped the bed quickly, throwing the sheets down onto the floor he flopped down onto his bed. He laid there for a long moment, unable to deny the phantom feeling of something pressing into his side. And as he inhaled his chest clenched, realizing his blunder...The other's scent clung to the mattress itself now.

Sensou continued to lie there, staring at the blades of navy blue on his ceiling from the blinds, and the mixture of white ones from the moon. Memories came back...And he shunned them, sealing them away with the rest of the ones that would slowly drive him insane one day. It was like storing them in a box that you only ever opened once in a while, and each time you did you lost a bit of yourself every time.

No one was there to stop his decline into the abyss, to stop himself from tearing his body apart every night...No one would pick up the pieces and put him back together, fill the void that deepened every day and crushed him every passing moon. No one...He lived because he had to...For no one. And besides, he didn't want anyone to put him back together in the end. Why?

Because he knew...He knew he didn't deserve it.

S~W

Yeah, anyway, I need some help with this fic! I need someone who can portray a good Wesker to help me get a fourth chapter going. While I go look for this person, enjoy another few fics I have! :3


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